


safe at shore

by the_ragnarok



Series: find happiness in misery [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read, Recovery, Rope Bondage, Subspace, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24035419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Sometimes things get better. [now with the beginning posted as well! *facepalm*]
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Series: find happiness in misery [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630777
Comments: 10
Kudos: 208





	safe at shore

The room in the community centre is quiet as Howard pours Martin a cup of tea. Martin takes it, grateful, and sips. He still prefers the tea he makes himself, but this is good, too.

"So," Howard says, rotating his own teacup so the handle faces him. "How's your week been?"

Martin takes another sip.

"You must have something really weighing on you," Howard says. At Martin's confused blinking, he elaborates: "Whenever there's something you find hard to talk about, you take longer with your tea. Have you noticed that?"

Martin puts down his cup, sloshing a bit over his fingers and wincing, but waving off Howard's concern. "It's just a few drops, I'm fine." He takes a deep breath. "I mean, you're not wrong, I guess. Why do you keep making me tea then?"

Howard shrugs. "I never said it was a problem. Just a pattern to notice, that's all." He smiles. "Besides, you need to be acclimated to being taken care of, and that's important, too."

Oh, God. Martin flushes crimson, feeling like everything that happened that weekend is projected on his face.

Howard's eyebrows rise. "Well. Whatever it is must be interesting indeed."

Martin hunches. "I don't know. It was weird, is what it was." He casts about his mind. "Oh, God. Where do I even start?"

Howard leans back in his chair. "Whatever comes to your mind first. We can work from there."

* * *

The play collar lay snug around Martin's neck. He eyed the ropes Jon held with equal desire and trepidation.

"We don't have to," Jon said, like he always did.

Martin shut his eyes. "I want to," he said, and put his wrists forward where Jon had easy access to them.

The ropes felt almost slick against his skin. Warmth radiated off Jon, and Martin could see him, feel him. Just Jon. Safe. He was safe. He kept repeating that to himself. Sometimes that helped.

The tie was nothing new, the simple quick-release double column knot Jon normally used on Martin. Jon's fingers, practiced, made quick work of it. "Feet too?" Jon asked.

Martin shook his head. Jon's hands settled on his shoulders, pushing him gently to lie down on the sofa, head on the armrest. Next came Jon's weight on top of him, familiar and beloved. Martin let out a sigh.

"How are you?" Jon asked a moment later, when Martin didn't provide running commentary.

Martin frowned, unsure. "I... think I'm good," he said slowly. He could feel pressure building up at the back of his skull, also familiar but definitely not loved. For a few minutes, he could stay balanced atop that pressure, let himself enjoy being under Jon's control without allowing fear to overtake him.

Jon's weight remained constant. He held Martin's face cupped in his hands. He was everywhere and everything, in the ropes restraining Martin, in the softness of the sofa under them, in the old books scent of the flat. Martin could drown in that - or would have been able to, once, before. Before--

_Don't think about that._ Martin tore his mind away, focusing on the here and now. Jon was humming, low and melodic, and that was good, that held him against the rising tide inside his head. He could hold on for just one more moment. And another one, and another one after that. He could, he could...

He was going to sink, he knew it, and he opened his mouth to say something when _it_ happened.

* * *

Martin glances at Howard, half expecting him to ask what _it_ was, but all Howard does is look at him, expectant. Martin swallows and continues. "It was, it was like..."

* * *

It was solid land. On the horizon at first, but as Martin gasped and struggled it came closer until there was certainty shifting like sand beneath his feet, until he could crawl his way up and collapse with the last remnants of fear tickling his toes.

"Oh," he said, out loud. " _Oh_."

Distantly, he could hear Jon speak, but didn't react until he'd realized Jon was trying to untie his wrists. Martin clutched them close to him. "Please. I want."

Jon's hand caressed his cheek. "What? What do you want?"

Martin struggled for words. "I just found my way here," he said, plaintively. "Let me stay."

"Of course," Jon murmured. "Of course. For as long as you want." He might have continued speaking after that, but Martin was too busy drifting to notice.

Or no, not drifting, for once. Resting in place, supported, _held_. He gently tugged on the rope, emitting a dreamy sigh as the knot didn't budge.

A million miles away, Jon chuckled, and said something about Martin being high. Martin didn't bother arguing. He curled into himself, wanting more of the rope's hug, to be encircled, contained. Even addled as he was, though, he didn't think Jon would cooperate.

* * *

"Why not?" Howard asks. His tea waits on the table, forgotten. Martin wonders if he should mention it.

He doesn't, instead saying, "Renegotiation in mid-scene can, ah, how does he say it? Reduce the quality of consent." He can't help smiling as he remembers the words in Jon's voice.

Howard answers with a small smile of his own. "It's obvious how much you care for him."

Martin shrugs, pleased. "Yeah, well, he is kind of amazing."

* * *

Martin could vaguely recall being herded off to bed, but the next strong memory was lying under the blanket with Jon peering anxiously at him.

Martin's smile felt too big for his face. "Hey."

Jon let out a long breath. "Sober again, are we?" He pet Martin's hair; Martin arched up into the touch. "Ah, not quite, I see."

Martin scrunched his nose at him. "Lies. Like I don't beg for contact any chance I get."

Jon's expression turned into something too complicated for Martin to parse at that moment. "You don't have to beg."

"I know," Martin said, taking Jon's hand in his. "I mean. Might be nice, actually...." he lost himself in thought.

Jon squeezed his hand and laid it down on the blanket. "Rest," he told Martin. "I'll go make tea. No," he said, preempting Martin's attempt to get up. "You stay here."

* * *

"He barely let me get out of bed that entire weekend," Martin says. Then he realizes what that sounds like. "I, I mean--"

"I did gather you didn't mean in a sexual way, yes," Howard says, unperturbed. "How, pardon the cliche, did that make you feel?"

Martin pauses, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Cared for," he says, bowing his head. "Like it was some sort of prize - but that's silly, isn't it? Getting a prize for managing something that only makes me feel better?"

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Oh shut up," Martin says, flushing darkly, and then hunching. "Sorry. Didn't mean to, sorry."

"No worries," Howard says. "All in a day's work."

* * *

Martin had been in bed for two hours when the implications of what just happened caught up with him. "Jon," he said. "Jon!"

"Mblergh," said Jon, who'd been napping next to him. "Yes? What is it?"

"Oh, sorry, sorry," Martin said. "Just hard a thought. You could maybe tie me up now. Properly, I mean."

"I hardly tied you up _im_ properly up till now," Jon said, adorably grumpy with having his sleep interrupted. He sat up, though, and seemed to give it serious thought. "Are you sure that would be a good idea? I'm not even certain what _happened_ , exactly."

"I found subspace," Martin said. "Or, a deeper version of it, I guess, one where I could go and not be so afraid."

Softly, Jon said, "That's good. I'm glad. But can you tell if it will happen next time as well?"

Martin quelled his first urge, to assure that it would. "I can't," he said. "But we can't know until we try, can we?"

Jon's mouth pursed. "I think I would be more comfortable if you discussed it with your therapist first."

* * *

"And so," Martin says, "here I am. What do you think?"

"I think that, understandable as Jon's concern is, there's nothing to worry about provide you take things slowly and don't rush yourselves," Howard says. "I do mean that, though. Start small. Don't berate yourself if you can't get there again next time, or think it was a fluke; if you've done it once, you can do it again. It might take practice, and recovery isn't linear."

"I know." Martin huffs out an annoyed breath. "You've said so. Repeatedly."

Howard shrugs, sanguine. "It bears repeating. Anything else before we're done for the day?"

* * *

On his way back home, Martin texts Jon. _got the all-clear from the dr. get ur ropes ready._

There's the shadow of anxiety looming over him, all the _What if I can't do it again, what if Jon is disappointed, what if, what if,_ but that shadow's practically an old friend by now. Martin knows how to deal with it.

He breathes deep, in and out, several times. Reminds himself of what Howard said. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. There'll be another time.

Martin's phone beeps. He takes it out, and there's another few pictures, one of a simple chest harness, one of a rope sleeve, one a bound leg. _I can undo any of these in under a minute, I checked,_ Jon writes. _Any preference?_

Giddiness rises in Martin like bubbles in champagne. _theyre all good,_ he writes. It's all good.


End file.
